GARDENING WITH CONFIDENCE
When you first hear this title, you might think it a bit cocky. It’s not meant to be. It was given to me by my husband, David, as he watched me work in the garden. He said, “You really know how to garden with confidence.” He told me that I make it look so easy—he was always my biggest fan.
But I didn’t always garden with confidence. At first I was driven by the desire to really know how to garden, not just to be schooled in design or plant culture or pruning basics. I wanted to understand what it is to garden, but I worried too much whether I was doing it right.
After a while, I learned there isn’t really a whole lot I can do to mess up. If you alleviate this fear of messing up with a little logic and forethought, you can avoid making even a few major mistakes.
Confidence-building comes in using the right tools, preparing for the elements, and visiting other gardens and local arboreta in your area for ideas of what grows well in your area. Meeting other gardeners, talking with the staff at your independent garden center, reading regional blogs, and even chatting on garden forums will do even more to boost your confidence. But most importantly, confidence comes from faith in yourself to get out and dig.
The gardening community is vast. Every town has a “go-to” person, or several people, for various interests. Search for any gardening topic on the Internet, and a hundred or more ways to do it will be available. Go to plant sales, join a garden club, and listen to lectures. And don’t be afraid to ask questions. I’ll bet I ask at least one garden-related question a day of someone who knows something I want to learn. I know what I know, and I know what I don’t know.
Sometimes I learn something that I didn’t even know I should know. Those are the best days. Somewhere along the way, I got so much confidence that I was comfortable enough to say, “I don’t know the answer to that, but I’m happy to look into it.” And that was when I really began to learn.
When you meet me, you’ll find I have the annoying little habit of picking your brain to learn what you know or how you go about doing a certain task. My world is wide open for learning new ways to benchmark, become better, or do something with greater ease. If I meet a plant propagator, I don’t bother asking what his or her favorite flower is or for tips to amend the soil. Instead I pull a question from my memory bank and ask about when and how to propagate a particular plant I’m interested in learning about.
Never be afraid of admitting what you don’t know. Be assured that there are no stupid questions. This is the secret to gardening with confidence. Gardeners are always at the ready to share information.
From the time I started gardening as a child with my dad showing me the way—and me, no doubt, annoying him with all my questions—to today, when I am asking you questions and looking for what you can teach me, I have learned to garden with confidence. I know that I can only mess up just so bad. And, oh yes, plants have died, but I didn’t necessarily kill them.
Gardeners like you make the best resources. It’s better still when you put your guard down to teach me or show me or tell what you think about this or that. In this way you will gain a little bit more confidence, too.
I hope this book helped you gain confidence and garner a perspective for viewing various gardening styles and elements. Since 1997, I’ve gardened with confidence on a half-acre wildlife habitat on a suburban lot in Raleigh, North Carolina, in a garden I call Helen’s Haven.
SIDEBAR
There was the time I planted seven gorgeous Hostas in a new bed only to wake up and find them nearly gone. Every one was chomped off at the root level, and most of the foliage was dragged down under the ground and finished off.
Voles! Voles are herbivores, and they find the roots of Hostas, Camellias, roses, and Aspidistra elatior (cast iron plant) much to their liking.
Would you believe I replanted? I did some research and followed some very sound advice. As advised, I planted with the Hosta still in the pot, wrapped in landscape fabric around the top, sides, and drainage hole. For good measure, I heavily sprinkled the area with PermaTill. I planted my seven new Hostas—but when I checked on them the next morning, they were gone.
This time, I was out of time, patience, and money. I gave up and planted hellebores instead and haven’t had a problem since. Voles don’t like hellebores.
I wasn’t so lucky the time the voles went after my Aspidistra elatior. Thank goodness these cast iron plants were only a rather pedestrian solid green variety. I had planted five one day, and as is my habit, I went to check on them the next day. Three were gone. I was outraged. I knew there were voles in this area, but I didn’t know voles liked cast iron plants. So what did I do? I did something that puts me into the “don’t that beat all!” category. I moved the remaining two cast iron plants to a new location, a location where I knew there were no voles. The next morning when I went to check on these two plants, they were down on the ground.
There was only one explanation: I must have transplanted a vole with a plant. If this ever happens to you, you have two choices—laugh or cry.
I chose to laugh and to garden with confidence because, hey, life happens. Never give up. Note the lesson, and start again.
